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That Which Makes Us Stronger
Kate’s father was diagnosed[诊断] with Wilson’s disease注 at the age of 46, having lived a happy and healthy life up till then. She’s telling us how she coped with her father’s sudden illness and subsequent[随后的] death.
凯特的爸爸一直过着健康快乐的生活，直到他46岁的时候被诊断出患了威尔逊氏病。现在让凯特和我们说说她是如何应对爸爸突如其来的急病及随后的去世。
At 18-years-old I found out my dad had Wilson’s disease. This is a rare genetic[遗传的] disease where copper[铜] builds up in the body and spreads to the liver[肝脏], brain, corneas[角膜] and kidneys[肾]. Without treatment, Wilson’s disease is usually fatal[致命的] by the age of 40, but if treatment begins in the early stages of the disease, sufferers can live a normal length and quality of life. Tragically for my dad, the illness lay dormant[潜伏] for too long and six months after his diagnosis, he’d gone blind and was on the emergency[紧急] liver transplant[移植] list. After three months of waiting, they finally found one.
The operation took longer than expected and he was heavily sedated[镇静的], but he’d come through it! Dad always said he didn’t want us seeing him straight away, so I was going to the hospital that weekend. A day after the operation, my uncle asked me to come home from university and help out my two sisters, aged 14 and 22. I couldn’t understand why I had to leave so soon when I had a ticket booked for the weekend, but when my uncle insisted, a spine-chilling[令人毛骨悚然的] feeling ran down my back. I scribbled[草率地写] out a note to my housemates and sat stony-faced on the train for four hours, unable to imagine the enormity[巨大] of what could happen.
That day my world came crashing down. I didn’t tune into the phone call my sister was having, but when she turned around to face us I saw the colour drain[耗尽] from her face like a photo that had faded in the sunlight. Grey. She said the words, “He died,” and walked towards us in slow motion as we held onto each other in utter[全然的] disbelief, having learnt our father hadn’t recovered from a cardiac arrest[心搏停止] he’d had during the operation.
I can honestly say I never thought we would lose him. Not ever. Three weeks after he died, I remember an evening I thought he was still alive. A friend who came to stay had written herself a note on my pinboard[留言板] to remind herself to ring her dad. I felt like I hadn’t spoken to dad in ages and had loads to tell him.
I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten. Even though every morning I woke up crying after a split second of thinking everything was normal, I’d realise it wasn’t. I’d never forgotten even after the day of the funeral[葬礼], when I walked into the cold hall with my feet feeling unattached[分离] to my body, catching sight of the coffin[棺材] and being held upby unknown arms to get me to the front row of seats. My throat raw[刺痛] from crying, my eyes stinging and my face throbbing[悸动] as the grief[悲伤] poured out of me uncontrollably. Being physically pushed to the front of the crowd of mourners[哀悼者] as dad’s coffin was lowered into the ground forever and walking arm-in-arm back to the car park where I stood in disbelief, realizing that this was the end for my dad.
襎he next few months passed by in a blur[模糊不清]. I cried most days and there were no days I didn’t feel like crying. I felt so bad for not crying that I cried anyway.Ó
I believed that as the talk of dad’s passing subsided[减退], people would think that I would be getting over it. It was the exact opposite. As time went on it felt worse, I missed him like crazy. I couldn’t even look at photographs of him because I didn’t want to look into his eyes and know at that moment he’d never have known what a short life he had in front of him.
Friends would say how well I was coping and how they would have cracked under it all, but they didn’t see my moments alone. I carried on for the sake of my dad. I felt he was around me all the time and that he would be ashamed[羞耻的] of me if I didn’t finish my degree. I would have conversations with him in my head and at times of deep turmoil[混乱] I would beg for him to come and sit with me and give me a sign he was still there for me, but it never came. Life was moving on tardily[缓慢地]. I just had to hope that there was life after death; that he wasn’t feeling the devastation[摧毁] that we were feeling at his sudden passing, and most of all that he was at peace.
18岁那年，我得知爸爸患了威尔逊氏病。这是一种罕见的遗传病，患者体内的铜增加，然后扩散到肝脏、大脑、角膜以及肾脏。如果得不到治疗，威尔逊氏病患者通常在40岁左右便会死去。但如果患者在患病早期开始治疗，他们就可以正常地活上一段日子且生活质量还可以得到保证。可悲的是，爸爸的病已潜伏了很长时间，确诊6个月之后，他失明了，而且急需接受肝脏移植手术。经过3个月的等待，医院方面终于找到了合适的器官。
手术时间比预想的要长，爸爸被注射了大量麻醉剂昏迷不醒，但他还是熬过了这一关！他常说他不想（手术后）马上见我们，因此我打算周末才去医院。手术后的第二天，我的叔叔叫我从大学回家帮帮我14岁的妹妹和22岁的姐姐。我不明白为什么要这么仓促地走，那时我已订了周末的车票，但当我的叔叔坚持要我回家时，一种骇人的感觉涌上我心头。我草草地给室友留了言，然后面无表情地坐了4个小时的火车，难以想象即将发生的事情会有多么严重。
那天我的世界彻底崩溃了。我没有接妹妹打给我的电话，但当她转身面向大家的时候，我看到她的脸仿如一张照片在阳光下曝光褪色一样—苍白得很。她说了几个字，“他去世了。”然后向我们慢慢走过来，我们互相拥抱，不敢相信这个事实。我们得知爸爸在做手术期间心搏停止，无法恢复过来。
老实说，我从未想过我们会失去他。从来也不曾这样想过。我记得在他去世后第三个星期的一个晚上，我以为他还活着。一位朋友来我这儿住，她写了一张纸条提醒自己打电话给她爸爸，并把纸条贴在我的留言板上。我觉得自己很久没跟爸爸说话了，我有很多东西要告诉他。
我不敢相信我会忘记这些事情。尽管每个清晨我哭着醒来，在那一瞬间里以为一切如常，但我马上意识到事实并非如此。即使在葬礼那天之后，我也永远不会忘记当我走进那冰冷的教堂大厅的时候，双脚好像与身体分离了。我看到那副棺材，自己被某人的双臂搀扶起来，拉到前排的座位上。我的嗓门因痛哭变得嘶哑疼痛，双眸刺痛得很，悲伤失控地向我扑面而来，两颊不时抖动着。我被推到那群哀悼者的前面，看着爸爸的棺材被永远埋在地下，然后被人牵着手臂慢慢地走到停车场，我呆呆地站在那里，难以置信这就是爸爸的一生。
“接下来的几个月浑浑噩噩地过去了。我几乎每天都很痛苦，没有一天不想哭。我觉得不哭就会很难受，所以还是痛哭一场。”
随着关于爸爸去世的谈论慢慢减退，大家觉得我可能已走出痛苦了。实际上却刚好相反。随着时间的流逝，我感到更加难受，我太想念他了。我甚至不能看他的照片，因为我不想直望他的双眼，深知当时的他永远不会知道自己的生命是如此短暂。
朋友都说我能这样面对现实很了不起，如果他们要承受这样的痛苦，他们会倒下来的，但他们从未看到我独处的时候。为了爸爸，我继续生活。我觉得他总在我身旁，而且如果我没有完成学业，他会为此感到羞耻。我会在脑海里与他交谈，在生活潦倒的时候，我时常恳求他坐在我身旁，让我知道他仍然会支持我，可是这从来也没发生过。生活缓慢地向前推进。我只期望死后有新生，期望他不会因为自己的突然去世而像我们那样感到无比悲痛—最重要的是，我希望他得到安息。
Kate’s father was diagnosed[诊断] with Wilson’s disease注 at the age of 46, having lived a happy and healthy life up till then. She’s telling us how she coped with her father’s sudden illness and subsequent[随后的] death.
凯特的爸爸一直过着健康快乐的生活，直到他46岁的时候被诊断出患了威尔逊氏病。现在让凯特和我们说说她是如何应对爸爸突如其来的急病及随后的去世。
At 18-years-old I found out my dad had Wilson’s disease. This is a rare genetic[遗传的] disease where copper[铜] builds up in the body and spreads to the liver[肝脏], brain, corneas[角膜] and kidneys[肾]. Without treatment, Wilson’s disease is usually fatal[致命的] by the age of 40, but if treatment begins in the early stages of the disease, sufferers can live a normal length and quality of life. Tragically for my dad, the illness lay dormant[潜伏] for too long and six months after his diagnosis, he’d gone blind and was on the emergency[紧急] liver transplant[移植] list. After three months of waiting, they finally found one.
The operation took longer than expected and he was heavily sedated[镇静的], but he’d come through it! Dad always said he didn’t want us seeing him straight away, so I was going to the hospital that weekend. A day after the operation, my uncle asked me to come home from university and help out my two sisters, aged 14 and 22. I couldn’t understand why I had to leave so soon when I had a ticket booked for the weekend, but when my uncle insisted, a spine-chilling[令人毛骨悚然的] feeling ran down my back. I scribbled[草率地写] out a note to my housemates and sat stony-faced on the train for four hours, unable to imagine the enormity[巨大] of what could happen.
That day my world came crashing down. I didn’t tune into the phone call my sister was having, but when she turned around to face us I saw the colour drain[耗尽] from her face like a photo that had faded in the sunlight. Grey. She said the words, “He died,” and walked towards us in slow motion as we held onto each other in utter[全然的] disbelief, having learnt our father hadn’t recovered from a cardiac arrest[心搏停止] he’d had during the operation.
I can honestly say I never thought we would lose him. Not ever. Three weeks after he died, I remember an evening I thought he was still alive. A friend who came to stay had written herself a note on my pinboard[留言板] to remind herself to ring her dad. I felt like I hadn’t spoken to dad in ages and had loads to tell him.
I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten. Even though every morning I woke up crying after a split second of thinking everything was normal, I’d realise it wasn’t. I’d never forgotten even after the day of the funeral[葬礼], when I walked into the cold hall with my feet feeling unattached[分离] to my body, catching sight of the coffin[棺材] and being held upby unknown arms to get me to the front row of seats. My throat raw[刺痛] from crying, my eyes stinging and my face throbbing[悸动] as the grief[悲伤] poured out of me uncontrollably. Being physically pushed to the front of the crowd of mourners[哀悼者] as dad’s coffin was lowered into the ground forever and walking arm-in-arm back to the car park where I stood in disbelief, realizing that this was the end for my dad.
襎he next few months passed by in a blur[模糊不清]. I cried most days and there were no days I didn’t feel like crying. I felt so bad for not crying that I cried anyway.Ó
I believed that as the talk of dad’s passing subsided[减退], people would think that I would be getting over it. It was the exact opposite. As time went on it felt worse, I missed him like crazy. I couldn’t even look at photographs of him because I didn’t want to look into his eyes and know at that moment he’d never have known what a short life he had in front of him.
Friends would say how well I was coping and how they would have cracked under it all, but they didn’t see my moments alone. I carried on for the sake of my dad. I felt he was around me all the time and that he would be ashamed[羞耻的] of me if I didn’t finish my degree. I would have conversations with him in my head and at times of deep turmoil[混乱] I would beg for him to come and sit with me and give me a sign he was still there for me, but it never came. Life was moving on tardily[缓慢地]. I just had to hope that there was life after death; that he wasn’t feeling the devastation[摧毁] that we were feeling at his sudden passing, and most of all that he was at peace.
18岁那年，我得知爸爸患了威尔逊氏病。这是一种罕见的遗传病，患者体内的铜增加，然后扩散到肝脏、大脑、角膜以及肾脏。如果得不到治疗，威尔逊氏病患者通常在40岁左右便会死去。但如果患者在患病早期开始治疗，他们就可以正常地活上一段日子且生活质量还可以得到保证。可悲的是，爸爸的病已潜伏了很长时间，确诊6个月之后，他失明了，而且急需接受肝脏移植手术。经过3个月的等待，医院方面终于找到了合适的器官。
手术时间比预想的要长，爸爸被注射了大量麻醉剂昏迷不醒，但他还是熬过了这一关！他常说他不想（手术后）马上见我们，因此我打算周末才去医院。手术后的第二天，我的叔叔叫我从大学回家帮帮我14岁的妹妹和22岁的姐姐。我不明白为什么要这么仓促地走，那时我已订了周末的车票，但当我的叔叔坚持要我回家时，一种骇人的感觉涌上我心头。我草草地给室友留了言，然后面无表情地坐了4个小时的火车，难以想象即将发生的事情会有多么严重。
那天我的世界彻底崩溃了。我没有接妹妹打给我的电话，但当她转身面向大家的时候，我看到她的脸仿如一张照片在阳光下曝光褪色一样—苍白得很。她说了几个字，“他去世了。”然后向我们慢慢走过来，我们互相拥抱，不敢相信这个事实。我们得知爸爸在做手术期间心搏停止，无法恢复过来。
老实说，我从未想过我们会失去他。从来也不曾这样想过。我记得在他去世后第三个星期的一个晚上，我以为他还活着。一位朋友来我这儿住，她写了一张纸条提醒自己打电话给她爸爸，并把纸条贴在我的留言板上。我觉得自己很久没跟爸爸说话了，我有很多东西要告诉他。
我不敢相信我会忘记这些事情。尽管每个清晨我哭着醒来，在那一瞬间里以为一切如常，但我马上意识到事实并非如此。即使在葬礼那天之后，我也永远不会忘记当我走进那冰冷的教堂大厅的时候，双脚好像与身体分离了。我看到那副棺材，自己被某人的双臂搀扶起来，拉到前排的座位上。我的嗓门因痛哭变得嘶哑疼痛，双眸刺痛得很，悲伤失控地向我扑面而来，两颊不时抖动着。我被推到那群哀悼者的前面，看着爸爸的棺材被永远埋在地下，然后被人牵着手臂慢慢地走到停车场，我呆呆地站在那里，难以置信这就是爸爸的一生。
“接下来的几个月浑浑噩噩地过去了。我几乎每天都很痛苦，没有一天不想哭。我觉得不哭就会很难受，所以还是痛哭一场。”
随着关于爸爸去世的谈论慢慢减退，大家觉得我可能已走出痛苦了。实际上却刚好相反。随着时间的流逝，我感到更加难受，我太想念他了。我甚至不能看他的照片，因为我不想直望他的双眼，深知当时的他永远不会知道自己的生命是如此短暂。
朋友都说我能这样面对现实很了不起，如果他们要承受这样的痛苦，他们会倒下来的，但他们从未看到我独处的时候。为了爸爸，我继续生活。我觉得他总在我身旁，而且如果我没有完成学业，他会为此感到羞耻。我会在脑海里与他交谈，在生活潦倒的时候，我时常恳求他坐在我身旁，让我知道他仍然会支持我，可是这从来也没发生过。生活缓慢地向前推进。我只期望死后有新生，期望他不会因为自己的突然去世而像我们那样感到无比悲痛—最重要的是，我希望他得到安息。